music is my mother because my mother is music

So I’m at work and an email notification pops up, from Davis, my oldest son. I never get emails from him, he’s just not a very email-y guy. Well, of course the title (this entry’s title) caught my eye straight away and I stopped what I was doing to read it. Five minutes later, I’m bolting to the ladies’ room with a handful of tissues. I emailed him back to I ask him if I could publish this (he agreed); apparently he wrote it in about 10 minutes, for a quick class project. I just can’t keep it to myself, it’s so good – and I’m not just being biased. When I told him how amazing he was, his witty reply was: “I am but one thread in the colorful quilt that is our family.”

What’s that flickering light, you ask? That’s his own torch, being lit from mine. What’s that creaking noise, you ask? That would be my pride swelling.

music is my mother because my mother is music

Music is my life and my passion. In fact, without music my passion for life would be in eternal jeopardy. It’s not just the soundtrack to my life, but the orchestra of my soul. Since my brain has been able to retain memories, they have been coordinated with that of the sound of music. Various bands and songs can literally catalogue my life’s experiences as a time-line of sound. Not only has music been my salvation in times of peril, but it has been a driving force into making me who I am, and also what I’d like to be in the future. Ever since I could distinguish sounds I would categorize things from noise pollution into melodic form. Lured away from science and arithmetic, or sports and cars, I was helplessly a slave to the intoxicating drug that is music.

When I was but a hatchling, my mother was at her most conflicted state of mind. An unwed mother of an illegitimate child, she was also very young. Having been a phenomenal singer in her youth, it was not hard to tell that her life was about to become far more complicated with my arrival. Throughout my childhood, I have visually witnessed her become hopelessly shackled to a physically abusive relationship. I have been pulled away from her by faceless doctors at a mental hospital only to interact with her through hand-drawn pictures detailing her struggle. At its worst point I was halfway down the spiral believing I would never see her again. I had completely abandoned music and was searching for answers.

Reluctant to believe in a supreme all-governing higher power, I found secret moments to not just pray but literally beg any intangible spirit to let me sell my youth and soul for my mother’s well-being and safety. With no father still residing amongst the living, I wasn’t able to convey this angst to anyone, and it seemed the odds were infinitely stacked against my mother and me.

My mother always told me, “If life seems like a bottomless pit, don’t forget there’s still time to change, because you’re not at the bottom yet.” I know she has lived by these words because just as that bottomless pit was coming to it’s darkest depths, she found the brightest light. She threw herself into her music, singing, and writing, all the while not forgetting about me. Constantly urging me to go to her band practices and gigs, I went from feeling my presence was obligated, to being her little roadie. I Learned various skills, tricks, and ethics from some of the most talented players I had the opportunity to meet and spend time with.

Eventually, taking things to the next level as I got older, I taught myself to play bass guitar, drums, and write lyrics. These hobbies were aggressively, but kindly, influenced by my mother and grandparents. This is the reason music is my life, because it can give back the gift of life as well. Can it bring a dead body back to life? Absolutely not. However, it can resurrect every potentially dead soul with the desire to flourish in ways they never knew possible.

Note: It is noteworthy to mention that this is the one and only post I’ve ever filed under my “What I Don’t Know” category. Because I don’t know the depth of his genius!